


Abort, Retry, Fail?

by oligopsony



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Death In Dream, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Dissociation, Doomed Timelines, F/M, My First Fanfic, POV Solas, Time Travel, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:01:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oligopsony/pseuds/oligopsony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexius interrogates Solas at Redcliffe, as both wrestle with what mistakes are fixable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abort, Retry, Fail?

"Please... I'm begging you. You and I both want the same things, you know."

I am splain upon a rough bench, my legs in manacles, my arms, it seems, ending in stumps. It is odd, if not unseemly, for a man to plead when he has you fully restrained, but if he wanted to present himself as vulnerable, I supposed I might as well go after his vulnerabilities.

"For your son to live? I suppose we do. It would be nice for him to live out a full life - see the world, pick up a lover. I hear Orlais is lovely this time of..."

Pain jets through my body; arcing out from the red lyrium under my toenails to every chakra along my spirit. At least I'm feeling something. 

"To make a _better world_ , Fen'Harel. To complete the work we each started, in our own way, but without all the mistakes."

"And your way to secure my cooperation is to... what, to..." I'm trying to mock his methods, but my incoherence serves as an endorsement. I gather myself. "You know, the most effective methods for getting answers from people is to win their trust. Organizations engage in torture so that they can show their superiors a confession, if not the truth. It's a disease of hierarchy. No wonder it flourishes under the New -"

Again. This time I hear an old elf screaming, dwell on it, think about what pains him so, before realizing the voice is mine. 

"I'm aware," says Alexius. "You've informed me of that in multiple timelines. As a Magister, as an authority, I've witnessed it - desperate fools who need something tangible to present; anything to remain in favor. Well, I suppose I am a desperate fool..."

...he presses his hand to the periapt again; that elf is screaming again...

"...and in the timelines I've followed your advice, I get less far with you than when I follow my own foolishness. I'm very sorry." He means it, and yet clutches his device again, letting it linger, then sits there, without words or another round, studying my eyes as if waiting for them to regain lucidity. I let them stay mute, so that I may rest, if but a moment. He motions his amanuensis - not a separate servant? they must be getting low on personnel - to apply some sort of salve to my skin. 

He clears his throat. "Don't think that the death of the interviewee, in this case, is any sort of limit on the methods. Your secrets don't die with you. Your expertise doesn't die with you. I _can_ and _will_ start over, Fen'Harel," he says, starting to pace, nostrils flaring, throat contracting, "I've killed you a thousand times. Don't believe I wouldn't kill you a million times. But you just need to talk once."

"So are you a desperate fool, or do you have all the time in the world?"

He squeezes the engraved carbuncle, hard, and it is as if my soul were engulfed by the fire of his own - I see the red song beating through the world, his hand and eyes clenched, the face of a father who has seen his son die hundreds of times, the screaming elf.

The screaming elf... what could that be a memory of? Have I known any...? Yes, there was... and... Someone is raving: "...and don't THINK for a MOMENT that your PRIDE will SAVE you, every time a little bit gets out and I just have to properly COLLATE them, you tell me each time about the HERALD and..." Yes, Lavellan the Herald, Lavellan was screaming, once, is that her? 

* * *

It is, but she's not screaming, she's laughing. "Ah, well then, one more for the Herald of Andraste to protect!" She smiles, and her lovely face, framed by Haven's green twilight, brand-unblemished, takes on a more serious cast. "But no, really - if anybody gives you crap for being an apostate, or you just need your way out of a jam - I don't know how much authority I have, but if it's not enough, well, I'm told I have a mean right hook. And it even glows now!" She's smiling again, puts up her dukes, pantomimes giving some templar a what-for. "Us heretics have to stick together, you know."

 I smile. "Your heart is kinder than you know, Vhenan." 

 My skin feels wet, is it raining? Yes. A perfect time for a kiss. I reach my hand - hand? yes, my hand - to her cheek, and - there is a cursed locket flying in, she screams, everything is green fire...

* * *

 Felix is washing me this time, as I remain awake. I instinctively look at the poor thing with disgust, and he averts his eyes. 

 "Is this it? Does your father imagine placing me with a more sympathetic captor will crack me open? Come now, this is simply bathos."

 "I-I'm s-sorry, Ser," he says, and grabs a quill, "he said he w-wanted someone with you at all times. M-might say something in your s-s-sleep."

 "I am in perfect control of my dreams," I reply, and he dutifully records. 

 I overview the situation. First, this world is already dead, a carcass whose only motions are death spasms. Alexius believes that he can salvage the unsalvageable.

 Second, Alexius also believes that he is at a systematic advantage, because he can learn from each of our interactions, whereas each instance of me that he encounters is equally ignorant of the rest. He is wrong. Not about the reasons, but that he is at a fundamental advantage. Must reflect further to figure out what that is.

 Third... the warm sponge on my skin feels good. I will savor this moment, even if it is just a moment. Torture has successfully made me experience gratitude for it; an elementary technique, though I suspect it is rather more to sooth Alexius than myself. 

 Fourth, since every instance of me is equally ignorant, every choice I make will be made by each instance of me, at least prior to getting more information. This means that, in order to coordinate among myselves, I need to settle on a policy in advance, while I'm ignorant and correspond to a maximum number of other versions of myself. Update based on what I discover, by all means, but do so in a way settled beforehand.

 Fifth, I now realize why he is wrong. This is a battle of wills, not of wits - or, rather, he has lost the battle of wits with himself to recognize that this is a battle of wills, and that the situation favors me. Systematically. 

* * *

 The pain is pulsing through me again, the elf is screaming again, but I am in control. Only a few months in this timeline, and now he interviews with his back to me - faster progress than I would have anticipated. Unless he wishes to lead me on - and I don't see why he would - I may not have been through as many iterations as he says.

 "Your pride is your strength, 'Solas,' but is also your weakness. In the end, you believe everyone is an idiot, and so you cannot help but leave hints. They are not as mysterious as you imagine."

 "Then it is a good thing you do not have to deal with someone who lacks such faults, then."

 "Case in point," he says. 

 Pulse.

 "You have already told me about the Evanuris, for instance. Not everything, but enough to know that they too destabilized the world. The New God will learn from their mistakes, once we find out what they were. You will help us, are helping us."

 Pulse. 

 "We know that you know how the time magic works. More than me, even, but less and less so. We know that you think there is still hope, on that basis. And like I said, we want the same things. We know there is hope for us as well. The faith in the New God is not misplaced."

 Pulse. 

 "But for gods' sakes Solas - mine, you, the Evanuris, the Maker-that-never-was, whatever the Titans are..."

 Pulse.

 "...this would be so much easier if you just  _cooperated_. We could do this properly. The great instauration of ancient glory. Maybe not exactly as you wanted on the details, but better than... better than  _this."_ He gestures at the surrounding walls, and the great nothing beyond them. "Haven't you thought about how, every time I start over, all of this has to happen again?" He turns around, looks me in the eye, shakes my shoulders.

 Pulse.

 "How many times are you going to  _kill this world_ , just so you can save it on your exact terms?"

 I cannot help but smile, perhaps he was right about my lack of mystery. But I have already won. Someday, my love will save the prince from this castle. Maybe not this prince, maybe not a my love who has ever loved me - but a love whom this me remembers, who has loved me in some world, who can salvage the unsalvageable.


End file.
